


You're My Sugar Dandy

by gunboots



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Gen, I Don't Even Know, I just wanted illya yaoi hands kuryakin making tiny pastries, I'm Sorry, M/M, also napoleon solo pining, matchmaker Gaby, no one wanted this but me, rom-com cliche hell here we go, the one where napoleon has a boring desk job, this is all terribly vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you like anything else, sir?" The girl behind the counter, (Gaby, her sky blue nameplate reads) smirks, actively smirks at him. "And no, you can't have his number." </p><p>"What if I simply wanted to give my compliments? “ Gaby considers him for a moment, then the line of women behind him.</p><p>"You got 15 minutes?" Technically Napoleon doesn't, but he's not about to go rushing back to Victoria's fits of rage regardless.</p><p>AKA the one where Illya is a hot baker, Napoleon is in love and Gaby is entertained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Sugar Dandy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [You're My Sugar Dandy 我的蜜糖花花公子](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5275943) by [blakjc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakjc/pseuds/blakjc)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Сладкий поклонник](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288221) by [Slavyanka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slavyanka/pseuds/Slavyanka)



> I blame twitter--ya'll didn't stop me. Now we have this. Also the fact that Armie Hammer OWNS a bakery with his wife in RL and if that's not the cutest thing in the world I don't know what to tell you. This kind of just ate away at me till I finally just had to sit down and write it all out. I think I mention Illya's 'yaoi hands' like several times I'm so sorry. I just want pictures and like everything of Armie 'Yaoi Hands' Hammer making tiny cakes. Also I made Napoleon work for Victoria in this fic because why not. 
> 
> This is barely spell-checked and probably riddled with grammar mistakes so there's that lol. Title is from the song 'My Boy Lollipop' because I'm so unoriginal idek

It's Monday afternoon and Napoleon Solo is avoiding his boss with a routine coffee run. It's nothing unusual...Victoria's been extra passive-aggressive lately. Besides, looking at expense reports tends to get his mind wandering and last time that happened he ended up pick-pocketing his co-workers out of sheer boredom. (He eventually returned it all but honestly it was more of a hassle than anything).

It's only by luck that he notices a bakery down the street from his office. He's not particularly hungry but he is curious and there is surprising amount of women leaving the place, arms loaded with crisp, white cake boxes and mint stripped paper bags.

If anything it will at least be better than eating something from the vending machine and dealing with Victoria's biting glare from across the room.  
The bakery itself seems relatively ordinary, with white furniture and brownstone walls and small knick-knacks scattered around. The selection of artfully arranged cakes and breads look appetizing and it smells good enough that Napoleon's stomach has decided to take active interest after all. The girl behind the counter smiles in greeting as she plates a _Mont Blanc_ for him.

He's about to ask for a cup of coffee as well when a man appears from the kitchen. Tall, built like a brick house, with sharp features, apron covered in flour--the man ignores all the women fawning over him as he bends down to pick up a sack of flour with one arm, easily swinging it onto his shoulder to pick up another.

He turns on his heel and just as quickly retreats to the back heedless of the catcalls sent his way. Napoleon's eyes follow with more attention than he has given anything that day. 

"Would you like anything else, sir?" The girl behind the counter, (Gaby, her sky blue nameplate reads) smirks, actively smirks at him. "And no, you can't have his number." 

"What if I simply wanted to give my compliments? “ Gaby considers him for a moment, then the line of women behind him.

"You got 15 minutes?" Technically he doesn't, but he's not about to go rushing back to Victoria's fits of rage regardless. 

"Go ahead and give me a coffee and you have a deal, Ms--" He gives his most charming smile back and she laughs.

"Just call me Gaby--you can read, can't you?" Her German accent fades in and out, but it just adds to her charm. 

"It's a deal then, Gaby."

\---

The man, (Illya, Gaby had confided, his name is Illya) is in the middle of piping a row of _macaroons_ when Gaby leads him back. His eyes are focused and his hands are careful as he lays down dots of pastel pink.

"Illya, you have a visitor." Gaby chirps, swooping down to take a few chocolate chip cookies off the cooling rack nearby. She sits down on a nearby counter, and Napoleon gets the feeling she's in for a show. 'Illya' finishes the tray before looking up and giving Napoleon a skeptical look.

"Can I help you?" Illya asks, tone deliberately short. 

Napoleon is too focused on the rough tones and Russian accent to even care. It's like 'Illya' was made from a laundry list of his kinks really.

"I just was telling your lovely employee here that I wanted to give my highest compliments." Napoleon says, flirtatious and charming. Illya snorts, completely unimpressed. Instead he goes back to his work."Ok, you did. Now leave."

"Illya. That wasn't very nice." Gaby chastises, even as she eats another cookie with anticipation. Yes, he's definitely providing the entertainment today. 

"Thank you." Illya amends after a moment. "Now please leave." 

"Must we cut it all so short?" At that Illya does roll his eyes, he gestures towards the whiteboard to Napoleon's right. It is covered in haphazard orders written in messy sprawl.

"I have birthday party at five. Go away." 

\---

So, it could have gone better.

But that doesn't mean Napoleon's about to quit. He shows up the next day and pointedly orders a box of macaroons. Illya ignores him as Gaby packs them up in a white box with a red bow.

"Please tell him I look forward to these." Napoleon says, taking the box from her gingerly. She glances behind her and whatever Illya seems to be gesturing to her, she's ignoring.  
"Want another tour?" 

"Why Gaby, I never thought you'd ask--"

"—Don’t thank me just yet, I'm just in the mood to see him shoot you down again." She explains, but still lets him behind the counter.

\---

He starts to become something of a regular after that. Not that Illya does much, he's moved on from pointedly ignoring Napoleon and his come-ons to just occasionally glancing up once in a while from his baking. Like today, where he is studiously arranging strawberry tarts while Gaby and Napoleon gossip nearby. 

"You're persistent, I'll give you that." Gaby marvels, and it's almost a compliment. "They usually give up by now."

"They?" 

"You didn't think it's strange that most of our clients are women, did you? We get a few men here and there but a LOT of women like Illya." 

"...I see." He doesn’t bother adding that the women leaving are particularly what attracted him in the first place. He has a feeling she knows anyways.

"Most of our Yelp reviews tend to talk about how tragically single 'Illya' is." Gaby shrugs, before making a face. "They all think I'm his sister—you’re the only one who hasn’t so far. I like you--I give it two more weeks before he eventually caves."

Illya clears his throat and Gaby pauses, thoughtful. "Maybe less than that."

"I am trying to work." Illya murmurs, exasperated as he leans back to examine his work so far.

"Well not to worry Gaby, I'll have you know I always get my man." Napoleon says, though it's week three and he's still not sure if Illya likes him any more or less. 

"Congratulations, go call 'your man' and leave me alone." Illya returns, still eyeing the tarts crtically, “unlike you, I have work to do.”

“I’m offended Mr. Kuryakin—I’ll have you know I work for a very important firm that has recently changed leadership and as such I’m unfortunately at the mercy of a megalomaniac.” Napoleon says. 

“So you hide here at bakery. Wonderful.” Illya sniffs, even as he sprinkles powdered sugar over the glazed strawberries. 

“I’m trying to woo you and your magnificent, large, pastry making hands. Is that really so terrible?” Napoleon is joking but then if Illya truly isn’t interested…

“I did not say that.” Illya blurts immediately, before catching himself and quickly snapping his jaw shut. Gaby gasps, before clapping her hands in delight.

“—No.” Illya interjects, pointing a large sugar dusted finger at her, before turning to Napoleon. “And you, busy—go away now.”

“If you’ll excuse me then, I believe that’s my cue.” Napoleon can FEEL the wideness of the smile on his face but he frankly can’t bring himself to care. 

\---

A program error on one of their main databases at work has Victoria and her supervisor, Sanders, both furious the next morning. He’s promptly sent out after a few hours of trying to get the system to run to get something sweet in the vague hopes their anger will be sated. When he makes it to the Illya’s bakery, it’s surprisingly quiet. Gaby motions for him to go to the kitchen before turning to greet a couple behind him.

“You’re early.” Illya comments dryly as he settles delicate sugar-spun birds onto equally, delicate red velvet petit fours. Napoleon still can’t get over watching him work, probably never will. Something about watching Illya’s large hands craft sweets with care and precision soothes him. Also, a not so small part of him finds it all terribly endearing. “You usually harass me in afternoon.”

“Actually I’m here to buy something to appease my bosses so they can look over my rather ghastly habit of returning to work several minutes late. Seeing you is always a bonus.” Napoleon says, leaning against the counter, “although, picking up where we left off from earlier—surely, you can't be this opposed to my company?" 

Illya sighs, placing down one last bird onto one last cake. 

“Box on counter next to you, take it and have Gaby give you tarts from yesterday.” He says after a moment. “I’ve got wedding at seven so I cannot entertain you today.” 

“Why Illya, did you bake me something?” Napoleon isn’t sure how he DIDN’T notice the box next to him. It’s pink instead of the bakery’s signature white and has a gold ribbon. 

“You want date? That’s my answer.” Illya avoids his gaze and maybe Napoleon would count it as a victory except he’s still stuck on the fact that Illya baked him something. "Is my rejection cake at least going to be sweet and not poisoned?"

"Is not cake!" Illya scowls. “Just take it and go."

"...That's...it?" Because this all seems a bit too simple and all the signs are pointing to not rejection cake per se, but rejection sweet of some kind. Maybe even just a restraining order hidden cleverly in the cake box.

“Do not open it till you are at work." Illya instructs before escaping to the relative safety of the pantry.

\---

Napoleon almost makes it to his cubicle before he eventually caves and opens the box. Immediately the smell of vanilla fills the cycled air around him and several people peek up from their cubicles. The many gracious strawberry tarts that he’d brought back couldn’t deter them apparently. Napoleon doesn’t care however.

He’s too focused on what’s INSIDE the box. 

Wrapped with care are two cupcakes that have a specific time and place frosted on their tops in red icing. A cardboard placard with Illya's sprawled writing has a phone number listed and adds: “Less cologne on Saturday, Cowboy.”


End file.
